


hourglass

by ndnickerson



Series: Red Label [24]
Category: Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene
Genre: Angst, Comfort Sex, F/M, Kid Fic, Major Character Injury, Married Couple, Married Sex, Minor Injuries, Peril, Pregnancy, Pregnant Sex, Stalking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 07:36:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/595166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ndnickerson/pseuds/ndnickerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nancy can feel the string playing almost taut through her fingers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hourglass

This is what she remembers:

She remembers rough brick against her shoulder blades, a satin spaghetti strap drifting down her arm, a fist twisted in Ned's collar, the dark smoke of scotch on his breath and the spiral of sweet red wine on her tongue. She remembers orange floodlight and cigarette smoke and a sob that keeps trying to rise in her chest, fluttering up her throat, feeding a desperation to drown herself in him instead of giving in. She kisses him like burning, and for all her desire she can feel his sympathy, his eagerness to reach through to something he can never touch. His palm is warm on her upper thigh, sliding under her skirt, and she braces against the wall, angling against him, clinging to him, seeking the warmth of his skin under her fingertips.

This is what she remembers.

That is years ago, now. They have a child and another on the way, and that anguish, the kind of anguish she never wanted Ned to feel, they both drowned in the night his parents died. For a handful of seconds, they were just fighting each other into submission, fighting _for_ submission, for a sensation that would surpass the pain.

It's that memory, the memory of the burn of scotch and brick against bare flesh when she shifted, that has her gaze unfocused, her fingers drifting lazily through the air when she hears the voice.

"Nancy! So, lunch?"

Normally she has a smile ready, but when Rich pokes his head around the doorway and into her office, she has to fight it onto her face. Ned caging her wrist in forefinger and thumb, shimmying her skirt up. She banishes that particular memory with a blink.

"Is Jan coming?" Nancy shuts a file with the blade of her hand, pushing her chair back. "We haven't been to that sandwich shop yet."

Jan is just as likely to invite herself along to any lunch outing, and the sandwich shop is small and crowded at lunch, loud with conversation, glass and metal, and couldn't be less intimate. And Rich, well, he's Rich and she was incredulous when Ned had first said that Rich was clearly infatuated with her. Then she had thought Ned was jealous, and then she had forced herself to actually look into Rich's eyes when he looked at her, and her heart had fallen.

Ned was right.

For a split second, Rich looks crestfallen.

\--

"Do you want to redo the nursery?"

Nancy glances up at her husband from her position on the bed, her long bare legs sprawled on the comforter, to see his hair still rumpled from his recently removed shirt, and her gaze traces the familiar lines of his abs, the low waist of his pants, the hair trailing below his navel. When he sees what she's doing he flexes his arm, a fake grin on his face, and she picks up his pillow and hurls it at him. He catches it easily, chuckling.

"Is that a 'of course, honey'?"

"That's a 'get over here before I kick your ass.'"

"Not in that condition."

Nancy raises an eyebrow. "Really? How much you want to bet?"

He was afraid of losing her. Maybe he is afraid of losing her, maybe he always has been. She can remember his mouth on her ear, begging her to stay with him. When they curl up together with his arm slung over her, his chin touching the crown of her head, she can feel his heart beating against her shoulder blades, can feel him breathing through the thin fabric of her shirt.

But she can't sleep, and he doesn't wake when she slips out of his embrace. She and Mollie linger at Jamie's door and her gaze traces her son's features in the grainy light. She can remember when he was the size of a grain of rice in the sea of her belly and he's so big now, so real. Like Ned he'll be tall and strong, his hair will still smell like grass and sunshine, and her heart will clench in her chest every time she watches him walk out their front door.

Downstairs Mollie nudges Nancy's hand, and Nancy obliges her with a gentle scratch behind her ears. Mollie turns a few times and collapses in a ball with her head against Nancy's hip, and Nancy watches the white-blue blur of the television without seeing it.

She can't think about paint for the nursery walls or the tumble of bottles and bibs Jamie outgrew ages ago. She can't. Not when she can feel the string playing almost taut through her hands.

\--

The office never feels empty. Even though Nancy is early, her insomnia leaving a bright sharp edge on everything, the lights are already on and she can hear, from a distant cubicle, the rare sound of a radio playing actual music. A voice breaks through the fadeout and Nancy stills with the key in the lock. It tears her apart, echoing between her ribs, and she's back in Ned's room in the Omega Chi house at Emerson, drunk and so close to coming apart at the seams.

She wants to turn it off. Her fingers are trembling a little. She closes her eyes and draws a line and steps over it, leaving it there, and when she opens her eyes again her hand is steady and the door is swinging open.

Her first task is to find precedent for a negligent homicide case. Her father, when he had to do any legal research, went to his library; she logs onto the intranet and scrolls through a few likely scenarios before finding a description of a nearly perfect case. At his downtown office her father probably still flips through the gradually yellowing pages, and she used to love to ask if any case involved a painted horse or a noisy owl and watch his fingers light on a few spines before deciding on one.

She goes through her inbox before picking up a long-term racketeering case her office has been handling for as long as she can remember. By then it's all filling up again, the warmth of bodies and voices, perfume and coffee, chatter and ringing telephones.

"Morning, Nancy."

Lucinda flashes a grin as she hands over Nancy's morning batch of mail, and Nancy sorts through it with a glance. "Morning," she replies, absently pulling out the manila envelopes. "Anything fun today?"

"Sure hope not."

She's expecting a few certified copies, but she slices through the standard envelopes first, flicking her wrist to draw the blade through that last inch. After tossing most of them into her shred-pile, she finds her certified copies, then flips over the last envelope.

She glances up and sees Rich walking back to his own office with a fresh mug of coffee in his hand. She smiles, a little. He used to constantly ask if she wanted some coffee, a danish, a glass of water, anything. He still does, but only occasionally now.

Nancy loves her husband. She can barely remember the last time she seriously flirted with another man; Bill's teasing on their increasingly infrequent nights out doesn't count. But, she has to admit, she enjoyed Rich's attention. She enjoyed that concerned look on his face, the favors. Her gaze finds the shot of her family in a plain black frame, posed in a studio, Jamie with one fist half-raised.

She feels it like a warm curtain, the fear that vibrates down her spinal column, and banishes it with a blink of her eyes as she finishes working the last manila envelope open.

For a second the sheet of paper holds no significance. Then Nancy flips the envelope over and looks at the address on the front, the return address. Block print. Black ballpoint.

The piece of paper, the only piece of paper inside, is a grey-white rectangle of recycled construction paper, limp from damp or overhandling. The front is one of Jamie's landscapes. The sun looms huge, beaming buttercup yellow and tiger orange rays, an oblong quarter-circle. The grass is individual verdant blades and a duck pond, foreshortened and a deep mediterranean blue, holds a yellow lump of an orange-billed, black-eyed duck.

She hesitates for a second, her stomach churning with icy acidic water, before flipping it over.

What she sees there leaves her instinctively, suddenly standing so quickly that her knee bashes against the drawer above it, nicking her stockings. She fumbles in her purse but when she can't feel her cell phone she half-dumps it onto her desk, sorting through the detritus until she finds it. She dials and, while the phone is sandwiched between her cheek and ear, carefully tips the drawing back into the envelope, handling it all with the tips of her fingers. There won't be prints.

_Soon._

She is more awake than she has been in years, every cell in her body screaming.

\--

Nancy is fully aware that most family histories aren't like hers. Most girls don't lose their mothers before grade-school. Most fathers aren't criminal defense attorneys; fewer are respected ones.

Once, she can remember, she was about to come out of her skin, when every voice sounded like nails on a chalkboard and every touch like sandpaper. Her father had called her to his study, and she had looked on with some confusion as he'd handed her the morning paper. The decanter was out. Liquor and leather.

"Recognize him?"

Nancy had scrutinized the mug shot, grainy black and white, buried in the B section, and had shaken her head.

"He was mad at me once. A case." Carson shrugged. "He managed to get you out of your day care. You were missing for two hours. Two of the worst hours of my life."

Nancy would never characterize her father as reticent, but that was the only time they talked about it. He was visibly angry at the memory.

That comes back to her, in the fifteen minutes she sits in the driver's seat of her car with her son wrapped firmly in her arms. The car door is open and her feet are on the pavement and the sun is out, glaring on the hood of her car. She starts at any movement, Jamie's breath warm and damp against her shoulder. The entire drive to Jamie's preschool isn't in her memory any more. It's just a blur of fierce repetitive prayer, a promise that whoever threatened her son will pay by her hand.

"Mommy!"

"Shh. Shh." Nancy's aware that at some point, probably during the drive, tears poured down her face, leaving her makeup a streaked mess. Jamie started crying too, great grieving howls, as soon as he saw her, in sympathy with her own distress. Now he's almost calmed down but she can't bear the thought of letting him go, of letting him out of her arms.

Two hours. Her father hadn't known where she was for two hours. She would lose her mind.

She's never going to let Jamie out of her sight again.

Two squad cars pull up, their lights flashing. Ned launches immediately out of the passenger seat of the lead, and Nancy actually feels a void in her arms when Ned reaches for their son. She rubs at her eyes. Bill emerges, too, sagging when he sees Jamie whole and unharmed.

"So what happened?"

Ned is murmuring to their son, the same as she did, counting fingers and toes and eyelashes. Nancy takes the handkerchief Bill offers and hesitates for a second before staining it with her ruined makeup.

"Envelope. Got a glove?"

As Bill pats his pockets, Nancy folds a clean corner of the handkerchief around the corner of the envelope and carefully offers it to him. By then he has one powdered latex glove on, the other half-on. He disappears into the squad car and Nancy looks over at her husband and son again, suddenly tired. The crash is familiar. The height from which she fell isn't.

Bill returns with the envelope in an evidence bag, having directed the uniforms into the preschool. Both Bill and Ned are in their suits, ties a finger-width loose. Jamie's face is against Ned's neck.

"When did you get this?"

"In the mail this morning. My prints are on it; I didn't know what it was when I opened it. No, there was nothing else in the envelope, that I noticed. Lucinda brought me the mail."

"Do you recognize the picture?"

Nancy shakes her head. "It looks like the kind of paper they use here, not what he has at home."

Bill zips the picture into a separate bag. "Now, enemies?"

On the way home, with Jamie safely buckled into the car seat in the back of Nancy's car and Ned on his way back to the station to pick up his car, Nancy pulls out her cell phone and presses a speed-dial button.

"Hello?"

"Can I just say that I am so sorry for every single time I ever made you worried about me?"

Despite himself, Carson chuckles for a second. "Is Jamie okay? From the tone in your voice I'm guessing he's okay."

"He's okay. He was more upset by how upset I was than anything."

"And what happened?"

"Someone somehow got one of his pictures from preschool and sent it to me with one word on the back. 'Soon.' No one in particular is sticking out in my mind as a suspect; you?"

"It would be pretty sick for a parolee to go after my grandchild."

"But not outside the realm of possibility."

Carson sighs. "I'll look into it."

\--

The envelope is off at the lab for testing. Nancy is more than sure that the tests will find nothing out of the ordinary. If there are more envelopes (if there are more envelopes she will hire personal bodyguards for her son and never sleep again) there might be a pattern, but there is no pattern to find yet, no one to fight, no one who has taken responsibility for this.

She can imagine, though, someone who has a reason to hate her, smirking in a corner over putting her through this hell. Someone with no intention of laying a finger on her son.

She has always looked at every person as a potential threat, to her or Ned, especially after his injury. Now, though, every shadow that passes her office, every car that passes their house, everything, has her on edge. She wants to pull her husband and her child into her arms and vanish them to an isolated mountain, a dense wood, an island in the middle of the sea.

But slowly, slowly, she comes back to herself, away from the frenzied, distracted version of herself that has gone through the motions since that morning, as she watches Jamie demolish his cereal, as she looks in on him while he's in his bed and Ned comes up beside her, sliding his hand into hers. She reads the reports of the patrolmen Ned talked into keeping a close eye on Jamie's preschool, Hannah recounts uneventful afternoons, and slowly, she finds it in her to smile again.

Until Bess asks, casually, over lunch, "So what are we doing for your birthday?"

"I..." Nancy comes within a second of dropping her fork, with a resounding, pasta-laden clatter, to the floor. Her stomach drops at the thought. "I don't know. Dinner?"

Bess makes a face. "Weren't birthdays awesome when we were younger? Skating rink, bowling alley, pizza at midnight?"

"And then drinking until we couldn't see straight?" George chimes in, rolling her eyes. "Throwing up half the next day? Oh, yeah."

"Shut up. That's what we're doing for my birthday this year." Bess takes a sip of her water. "But we should so do that. Makeovers and listen to old music and wear pajamas—"

"Well, at least we have husbands to drive our drunk asses home once we're too tired to sing into our hairbrushes anymore."

Nancy looks down at her plate, and her stomach responds with a slow flip. Not the baby. Maybe not the baby. She still hasn't gotten the hang of it. When she was pregnant with Jamie every unexpected event was terrifying. Much like now, she has to admit.

"What do you think, Nan?" Bess and George gaze at Nancy expectantly and she gives her head a little shake.

"Whatever you guys decide is fine."

"It's _your_ birthday," George points out. "If Bess gets her way we'll hop on a plane for Vegas, and I'm all for a night at a sports bar, so _clearly_ you need to be the tiebreaker."

"A sports bar? Surely you aren't tired of Kevin."

"Definitely not." George covers her rising blush with a long sip of water. "You just have the bad luck to have a birthday during the playoffs."

Nancy props her chin on her hand. Bess's blue eyes are gleaming with their usual mischief, and George's brown eyes are mostly hidden behind her darkened lashes. Bess's blonde hair falls in loosely gathered curls and her fingers end in burgundy-tipped nails and she looks every inch the polished, sophisticated woman she always wanted to be. George's dark hair is in the severe sweep cut she gets just before the summer, but her expertly smoky eyes betray that she did actually learn something during Bess's constant makeup lessons. Nancy pokes absently at her food, shifting a layer of pasta with her fork, feeling suddenly the bloated disgusting cow Ned perpetually tells her she isn't.

"Why don't we just all go out?" she asks suddenly, letting her fork rest back on her plate. "It seems like ages since we all got together, with our guys, and had a good time. I know Ned and Terry talk over their games, but God, that isn't the same."

Bess claps. "And then we can go back to someone's place and play cards! And drink! And Nan can be the DD!" She's grinning now, enthusiastic. "And have a cake! Oh man, is Hannah going to make the cake? Kids or no kids?"

Nancy is the only one with a child, so the real question is whether she and Ned can get away for an evening, or most of one, without Jamie. "Depends on what Hannah has going on," she shrugs. "But the real question is where we should go."

"Maybe somewhere we have to actually dress well?" George asks.

"George Sidney Fayne Adams." Bess's eyes are impossibly wide. "I did _not_ just hear you ask if we could dress up."

"What? Kevin hates putting on a suit, but he looks so good in one."

For a moment each of them imagines her respective husband dressed for a night out. Nancy shifts in her chair.

"Yeah. Yeah, we are definitely doing that."

"Which makes it the perfect opportunity to go to Brin." Bess's hands are clasped in glee.

"That has to be the stupidest name for a restaurant I've ever heard. Why not Fork, or just Food."

"Do you want Kevin in a suit or not?" Bess retorts, spearing another bite of potato.

"Fine."

Nancy smiles. "I'll get Ned to make the reservation."

She goes back to work thinking about Ned in his favorite suit, and when she runs the idea by her husband that night, he agrees with a smile. By then, though, she can feel it, swelled pale and silent as the moon, choking her. She has to force her smile, and when he calls to her from the bathroom, asking if she wants him to bring the cocoa butter with him, she agrees.

He comes in with the bottle and she sits up, gazing at him. He already has his shirt off, and her gaze traces the lines of him, the pale scar the bullet left in his chest. He sits down on his side of the bed and clicks the lamp on before he flips the overhead light off; he reaches for the hem of the tank top she's wearing, then slips it off, easing the elastic band of her cotton sleep pants down below her belly. She's naked to the waist when she lowers herself back to the sheet, her red-gold hair on the pillow, waiting for him.

"So you really want me dressed up."

She nods, watching him warm the lotion in his large palms before he begins to slowly stroke his hands over her belly. She blinks at how good it feels, to have his hands on her, and she's tired, she wants to close her eyes, but she needs to look at him.

"You are very handsome, Nickerson, but you are _damn_ handsome in that black suit."

"You know what really does it? The gorgeous woman on my arm." He leans down and brushes the tip of his nose against hers before he sits back, and she arches a little, her lips parting as he smoothes the lotion over her breasts. He works his way back down, massaging her sides, brushing his lips against her belly button.

"Hey little one," he whispers, his breath warm against her flesh. "I can't wait to meet you."

She has to swallow hard to keep the tears in her throat from rising into her eyes.

When he's finished she reaches for her shirt again, and he turns off the lamp before he settles under the covers. She snuggles up to him, listening to his heart.

"Mmmm. Man, you smell delicious."

Nancy giggles a little, nuzzling against his chest. "Sorry it's not body chocolate."

"Then I'd have to lick it all off you. Bet I'm gonna dream about chocolate tonight."

"Me too."

Ned makes a soft noise, shifting and drawing her a little closer. "Love you, baby."

"Love you," she whispers, finally closing her eyes.

The threat to her son had distracted her for a while, but the closer her birthday comes, the more she finds herself dreading it. She knows she's being foolish, that if she told her husband he would—well, Ned wouldn't laugh at her, but he wouldn't understand, either. Not that she understands it herself.

But it's unshakable, this dread in her, bone-deep and so incredibly familiar. She smoothes her hand over her belly before she dresses that morning, wishing and praying with all her heart that she will see her baby born, will be able to hold her little boy or girl and peer into wondering blue eyes one more time.

Their reservations are set for Saturday night. The day before, both Nancy and Ned are tired from a long day at work, but exhilarated at the prospect of the weekend, getting to spend some time together with their friends. Jamie will be with Hannah while they're at dinner and through the next afternoon, and they'll be able to come back home and make love at their leisure, without worrying about waking him or his interrupting.

Jamie tells Ned about his day over dinner, and Nancy listens carefully for any sign that her son noticed something wrong while he was at preschool. She can't help it. She wonders if the panic she felt when she saw his crayon picture in that envelope will ever truly fade, and in her heart she doesn't think it ever will. She has been aware and worried about Jamie from the second he quickened inside her, and she thinks she will be until she draws her last breath, no matter how old he is, no matter how tall and strong and self-sufficient he becomes. He's her baby. He will always be her baby.

She loves watching Ned and Jamie together. Jamie idolizes his father, and he loves spending time with Ned. When his preschool teacher asked his class to draw what they wanted to be when they grew up, Jamie drew himself as a stick figure in a black uniform, a policeman like his father. Even though Ned's detective uniform is usually a suit and tie, that's still the image Jamie has in his head, of Ned in his dress uniform, out fighting crime and keeping the world safe. He always wants to go to work with his parents, but Jamie has always found what his father does fascinating, even the heavily sanitized version of his usual day Ned gives him. Granted, every now and then he also announces his intention to become a stegosaurus.

Just like Nancy can't fight the worry simmering in her every time Ned leaves her sight, she wishes she could beg Jamie to think of something else he wants to be—but she can't control either of them. She may beg Ned to wear his vest anytime he's in an even remotely dangerous situation, but she can't begrudge him after all the years he's spent supporting her when she was working on cases, when he supported her decision to start working for the state's attorney's office. And Jamie, oh, he is so quick and good-natured, strong and stubborn and thorough, and sometimes Nancy marvels that she and Ned actually created him. He is the best of both of them, and he will be an amazing big brother...

After their meal Ned clears the table while Nancy takes Jamie to the downstairs bathroom and gives him a bath. He's clean and he smells sweet after, in his cowboy pajamas, and since it's not quite his bedtime she asks whether he wants a story or a movie, and he opts for a movie.

They settle on the couch and Ned joins them, in flannel pants and an undershirt, and Jamie sits between them, enthralled as they watch one of his favorite videos. Ned drapes his arm across the back of the couch, idly stroking Nancy's shoulder, and they're more entertained by Jamie's running commentary and observations than they are the actual movie. Halfway through he's obviously nodding off, and Nancy and Ned exchange an indulgent glance before Nancy sweeps their son up into her arms.

"I can do that," Ned murmurs, his brow creased a little, but Nancy shakes her head. He's worried about her condition, but she's okay, and besides, she needs to do this.

"I'll take care of it." She hitches Jamie up a little higher and he squirms a little, but allows himself to be carried to the upstairs bathroom to brush his teeth, then to his room.

She turns on his nightlight, which throws a spray of constellations onto the ceiling over his head, and pulls back the covers in his small bed. Instead of settling him into it, though, she sits down and hugs him to her chest. She remembers when he was so tiny, newborn, six weeks old, and she was listening to Ned sing to him. But there is no song she knows that could possibly say what she's feeling right now, so she kisses his forehead and smoothes his silky hair back.

"I love you so much, Jamie," she murmurs. "So much, sweetheart. I never want you to forget that."

"Love you, Mommy," Jamie says obediently, and then he stands up and brushes his nose against hers, the same gesture she uses with him, Ned uses with him, she and Ned use with each other. He giggles and she feels the soft breathing warmth of him as she wraps him in her arms again, and it's so impossible, that one day this child in her arms will be as tall as she, that he is his own person, part of them both and yet someone else  entirely too.

He only suffers himself to be held for a little while before he squirms out of her arms, begging her to read him a story, and she can't turn him down. They read it together, until his blinks are longer and longer, and she makes her voice softer as his breathing evens out. Quietly she puts the book down, then strokes his hair back, brushing a light kiss against his smooth forehead.

They heard Ned let Mollie out, and downstairs Nancy hears Ned let her back in, the stroke of her claws against the linoleum as she heads to the kitchen for some water. Nancy goes to their bedroom and pulls nightclothes out of her drawer, then heads to the bathroom to give herself a sponge bath and brush her teeth.

When she comes to their bed Ned is just walking into their room, and he raises his eyebrows when he sees her. She's wearing her dark blue flyaway babydoll with matching underwear, her hair down, her long legs smooth and bare. It's her favorite outfit to wear right now, since she can't wear anything too tight. Ned gives her a small slow smile, gently squeezing her forearm in an unspoken promise, before he heads to their bathroom to clean himself up.

She pulls back the covers, turning on the bedside lamp and flipping off the overheads, and slips into bed. She doesn't even bother to set an alarm; Jamie will wake them early. While she knows they'll have sex Saturday night, she wants her husband now, needs him now, even though they're both tired and ready to relax after a long week. When she had spoken to him earlier in the day, he and Bill had been working a new case, but with Jamie around, she hasn't been able to ask him about it.

Ned comes back into their room barechested, and the dim golden light from the lamp dips and shifts against the lines of his lean, firm muscles as he comes to their bed. His underwear is slung low enough that she can trace the v at the bottom of his torso with her gaze. His dark eyes are glowing and the light moves over the curve of his wedding band.

She swore him forever. She swore him every breath she took in the terrible time after his parents' death, during those long, rough nights, when she gave him the pleasure of her body to distract him from his grief, when they had been so lost. She has never let herself regret that decision, only the circumstances. Since they began to build their life together during their engagement and marriage, the love between them has only grown, and while she used to imagine living without him would be hard, now it's unimaginable. He is the love of her life.

"You were assigned a new case?" she asks, her voice low, as he slips into bed beside her.

Ned nods. "Probably mob. It'll be tricky. Bill said he'll do some legwork so we can start questioning Monday, but he's already found some good leads. Guys the vic used to hang out with. That kind of thing."

Nancy nods, arching a little when she feels his large, warm hand rest over her belly, under the covers.

"So, sweetheart," Ned murmurs, moving closer to her, and she tips her head up, meeting and holding his gaze before he brushes his lips against her cheek. "You seem dressed up."

She closes her eyes, her lips curving up a little when he toys with the ribbon tied between her breasts, holding her outfit together. "Glad you noticed."

"I thought we were gonna do tomorrow night..."

She chuckles. "You saying you don't have the stamina for two nights in a row, Nickerson?"

"Was that a dare?"

"Maybe."

He kisses her and she cups his cheek, her lips parting, and his tongue slips into her mouth. She returns his kiss, melting under his touch, as he unties her gown and pushes it open, baring her breasts to him. She draws in the scent of him, that familiar combination of his shampoo, soap, aftershave and deodorant, the musky trace of his sweat, and her heart rises in response.

He kisses her again, a little harder, and she runs her fingers through his hair, moaning quietly. She knows they have to be quiet; she would hate for Jamie to interrupt them in the middle of this. Even so, it's been too long since her husband last touched her this way, and the absence ignites such a fierce hunger in her. At work, when she's with Jamie, anywhere else, she can't be this woman. She can't be vulnerable or out of control anywhere other than his embrace.

When he pulls back so she can slip out of her gown, she blinks slowly at him. His gaze is dark and glowing with desire, so warm that it sends a shiver down her spine. "Can you pretend something for me?" she whispers, and the satin, warmed by her skin, slips down her arms.

"Mmm-hmm." Ned's gaze is fixed on her bare breasts, golden in the lamplight, and she cups his cheek, tipping his chin up so she can look into his eyes again.

"Make love to me," she murmurs. "The way you would if I was about to leave on a long trip."

"A long trip? Like how long?"

"A month," she says, with a small shrug.

Ned's brows draw together a little, and he frowns. "Are you trying to tell me that you're about to go—"

She shakes her head a few times. "No, no, baby. Just pretending."

His brow mostly clears. "Sure?"

She nods. "I'm sure."

"Good. I hate when you're away from me, Nan. I missed you so much when you were in Italy..."

He brings his hand up and brushes the backs of his fingers over the hard tip of her nipple, and she feels the join of her thighs warm in response. "You did?" she whispers.

"I always hate it. You're my life, Nan, you and Jamie. You're my world. I always feel distracted when you aren't here."

"Like part of me is missing," she says softly when he leans over her, cupping and fondling her breast as he kisses that spot under her ear. Her lashes flutter down as she closes her eyes. "Show me."

He pulls back to brush the tip of his nose against hers, and the familiarity of the gesture makes her throat thick with unshed tears. He kisses her softly, lightly, and she threads her fingers through his hair, his hips tight against the join of her thighs, but he's not yet moving with her; she's still wearing her underwear. They make out, his thumb idly stroking her nipple, and then he pulls back to tease her with gentle kisses.

"If you were going to be gone," he murmurs, his lips moving against hers, "I would want to beg you not to leave... and if you were leaving tomorrow, I would spend tonight memorizing you all over again, sweetheart."

"And I would memorize you," she whispers, brushing her thumb over his cheek, and when he pulls back and their gazes meet, she can feel his breath catch.

"I love you so much, Nan."

"And I love you," she breathes, and when he just barely moves his hips against hers, her lips part, and she melts underneath him.

And she puts herself in much contact with him as she can, when they roll onto their sides and she hooks her leg over his hips, the hollow between her thighs hot and growing more slick with anticipation. When they are finally gasping, eager and desperate against each other, every stroke of his fingertips over her flesh sending another shiver down her spine, he reaches down and begins to peel her underwear down, and she helps him. When she comes back to him they tumble together, as eager as they had been once the pain of his parents' death had faded and they were just making love for the sheer joy of it, once their joining no longer hurt her the way it had those first times. She needs him; God, all of her is warm, and she can only move with him, can only shiver and kiss him so sweetly as he cups her hips, stroking her waist, her outer thighs. She's sprawled on top of him, and she has to pull back and stop kissing him, but oh, she doesn't want to. She wants the night to last forever.

Her forehead touches his as he slips his thumb between her thighs and gently brushes her clit, and she lets out her breath in a long shivering sigh, moving so her slick inner flesh rubs against his cock. He tips his head up and kisses her, and she returns it before she pulls back just enough to look into his dark eyes. A bolt of desire and need tightens her belly and she grinds down against him more deliberately, unable to stop herself, but she just wants to stay in this moment, warm and safe and loved by him.

She has so much. She has everything she has ever wanted, a husband who would go to the ends of the earth for her, a beautiful perfect son and another child on the way, her father and Hannah, Bess and George, her work, their home—

And even this, even being this close to him isn't enough. She shudders with every stroke of his fingertip against her clit and they reach between them to angle his cock, and when the tip of him just slides into her sex, they both sigh. She pushes herself up and looks down at him, and he cups her cheek, his fingertips caressing her, down the line of her neck, her shoulder, stroking her hair.

"I love you so much," he whispers again. "Oh, Nancy..."

"And I will love you forever," she promises him, forcing herself to keep her eyes open as she sinks down onto him, as he fills her. "Always, Ned. Always."

She makes it as good for him as she can, but he remembers what she said. She rides him, clenching her inner flesh tight around him, and his fingertips dig into her in response, his breath coming in swift pants as he holds himself back. He circles her clit with his thumb and she wants to cry out; she tips her head back and sobs silently, and when she angles her hips Ned thrusts his up hard under her, driving himself between her thighs, and she trembles in response.

Then he rolls over with her, moving carefully to keep from putting pressure on her belly as he moves over her, into her. When he plants his palms against the mattress to support his weight as he moves inside her, she reaches down to rub her clit and bucks under him, panting, moaning softly at the pleasure of feeling him love her.

"Oh, Nan..." He nips at her earlobe as she trembles under him, and her fingers run through his hair, her lips against his skin as she feels a scream build in her. She'll have to muffle herself against him, and when he plunges into her again, the edge of her nail rubs against the tip of her clit and she sucks in a swift breath, her legs wrapped around him.

Ned makes love to her until she breaks under him, until she screams into his shoulder, bucking and writhing under him. He gasps when she digs her nails into his back, still desperately fondling her clit. "Please," she whimpers. "Oh, baby, please, I need you..."

"And I need you," he says, his voice harsh as he grits his teeth. "Oh, Nan, so good..."

She makes herself look up at him, relishing how glorious each stroke of his cock feels against her inner flesh, the light in his eyes every time his gaze meets hers, the love she feels for him. She can hear how wet she is when she moves against him, and when she clenches her inner muscles tight again, Ned groans, his hips jerking and driving hard between her legs as he breaks.

Instead of collapsing to her he rolls onto his side with her, to keep from crushing her under his weight, and they both pant desperately, trying to catch their breath. She wraps her arms around him, her skin still glowing with sweat and achingly sensitive against his, and nestles against his chest, feeling his heart beat.

"You and Jamie are my world too," she whispers. "I love both of you so much."

He kisses her temple, and when she shivers he moves to pull the covers over them, then shakes his head and reaches for the cloth to clean them both up. They move together under the blankets, and she's wrapped safe in his arms, their child safe between them.

She closes her eyes, her lips brushing his chest. "I love you," she breathes, silently, and his arms tighten around her.

She just wants more time, but no length of time will ever be long enough.

\--

"Happy birthday, Nancy."

Nancy smiles at Hannah as Jamie flings himself at his surrogate grandmother's legs. "Ooof!" Hannah teases him, reaching down for him, seating him carefully on her hip so she doesn't smear flour or baking powder on his clothes.

"Busy?"

Hannah shrugs. "Beef Wellington pastry's done," she explains, gesturing at her dusted apron. "I was thinking little man here could help me make some cookies later?"

"Cookies!" Jamie's eyes light up, and Hannah chuckles as she ruffles his hair.

Nancy puts Jamie's backpack down beside the couch. Although he has his own toys, even changes of clothes over at her father's house, she's packed his favorite blanket, a few of his current favorite toys, a new movie. "I'll be back to get you tomorrow afternoon," she tells Jamie. "And you'll be good and help Hannah?"

Jamie nods, his eyes wide and sincere, and Nancy smiles at him, reaching for him. Once he's in her arms she holds him close, closing her eyes. Ned had hugged Jamie goodbye back at their house, but Nancy relishes the time she can spend holding her son, knowing from what other mothers have told her that one day the hugs will be grudging, then rare. At this age, though, he still hugs her with no reservation whatsoever.

"I love you, baby."

"Love you, Mommy," Jamie says, and when she kisses his cheek, he giggles, then squirms to be put down.

"Go sit down at the table and I'll bring you some apple slices," Hannah says, and Jamie obeys immediately, his miniature sneaker soles pounding against the floor. Then Hannah takes off her apron and hugs Nancy.

"You look tired," Hannah says.

"I'm okay. Just have a lot going on today, and it'll be good to relax tonight. Thank you so much for watching him for us."

Hannah nods. "Just don't forget about next weekend; I'll be leaving Thursday morning, back Sunday night."

Nancy nods. "Thanks again."

Hannah smiles and pats her back. "Hope you and Ned want some cookies tomorrow. Once Jamie gets started he really doesn't like to stop."

Nancy kisses Jamie goodbye one last time, ruffling his hair, as Hannah brings him a plate of apple slices smeared with peanut butter and a sippy cup full of milk. He's happily munching when Nancy picks up her purse and goes back to the door.

For tonight Nancy has picked out a scoopneck short-sleeved cream-colored dress, the fine fabric woven with a subtle metallic thread. Her belly, grown more prominent in the middle of her pregnancy, isn't disguised by the fit of the gown, which gave her some misgivings when she was picking it out, but she's warmed when Ned comes into the bathroom and loops his arms around her, gently rubbing his palm up and down her belly.

"You look gorgeous, babe," he murmurs against her neck before kissing the place where her neck joins her shoulder, then releasing her.

"Thanks," she says with a genuine smile before she picks up her foundation to finish putting it on.

For Ned it's easy. He shaves again, puts on a crisp white button-down and his coal-black suit and shined shoes, a tie and cologne, and he's done. Nancy puts on a pair of silky stockings, strappy heels, dangling earrings, a rich dark-berry shade of lipstick. She puts on a diamond necklace her husband gave her after their marriage, then gives her reflection a once-over. Her curlers didn't give her hair quite as much volume as she wanted, but her eyes look startlingly blue thanks to her makeup, and pregnancy has put a warm glow in her cheeks, a softness that looks far too much like vulnerability for her tastes. But Ned loves it, and she gives herself one last spritz of perfume before she walks out of the bathroom, presenting herself with a small, self-deprecating flourish to her husband. Under the dress she wears cream and rose-colored lingerie and a pale slip, the thin lace and satin warmed by her flesh.

Ned's lips curve up in a slow appreciative smile. "Beautiful," he tells her, and she tips her head, bashful for a moment.

"Speak for yourself, handsome."

Ned glances down with an 'oh this old thing' expression, and she chuckles at him, grabbing her wrap before he guides her downstairs, his palm lingering at the small of her back.

Bess looks gorgeous in her short rose-colored dress, the shutter pleats emphasizing her curves. Just as she does every time she sees him, Nancy has to do a little double-take when she sees Terry. She has been with Ned for so long that every line of him, every bit is familiar, and Terry looks very similar to him. He is so very sweet with Bess, though; where Ned is quicker to laugh, Terry's a bit more reticent, and though he teases Bess a little about her exuberance over the restaurant, Nancy can see the deep affection in his eyes. Bess was clingy with her other boyfriends. With her husband, she keeps her hand joined to his, but she doesn't drape herself against him, doesn't lean against him to peer longingly into his eyes. But then, she doesn't have to, not anymore. Terry is hers, and they are so, so deeply in love, and it's in the quiet moments, the whispered conversation they share, the stroke of his thumb against the side of her hand, the spark in Terry's eyes when he looks at his wife.

Nancy doesn't really say anything to the two of them about it, but she is so, so very glad that they hit it off at Ned's family reunion that summer. Bess has always deserved an amazing guy, someone worthy of how deeply and fully she loves, especially after that asshole Johnny did everything he could to use her and bleed her dry.

George and Kevin look so happy too. Just as they had agreed, all three of their husbands are dressed well; Kevin looks the least comfortable with it, though he looks very handsome in his slacks and dark jacket. He's a few years older than the rest of them, and he's wearing his wire-rimmed glasses, and it's clear that George couldn't be more in love with him. She's wearing a short graphite dress that clings to her curves, leaving her shapely legs displayed to advantage. Her dark eyes are glowing, and her fingers are laced through her husband's. Her makeup is mostly soft and subtle, but it makes her eyes bright and luminous, her deep red lipstick sophisticated.

As much as George has mocked the restaurant's name, once they get inside, even she is suitably impressed. The lights are dim and golden. A fire crackles quietly in the corner. Nancy isn't yet unwieldy from her pregnancy, but when the hostess guides them to a large table, she's still a little relieved. Her sandals aren't too comfortable, and she doesn't want to block anyone into a booth or a cramped seat at a table.

The restaurant is billed as modern American, and that apparently translates to familiar items prepared in unfamiliar ways. Nancy's been to any number of restaurants, but a startling number of items on the menu include the words "foam," and none of the entrees include French fries. Ned looks over the wine menu, and Nancy hasn't had a drink in a while; she agrees to have one small glass, although she's wondering whether it will just serve to whet her taste for it.

The one thing Nancy dislikes about Kevin—and he's very hard to dislike; most of the time he's dressed like a casual sportswear model, and he's easygoing and more than able to hold up his end of a conversation—is that he's so active that he and George are often taking trips. They've been working out at a rock climbing place in the city, and the one time Nancy had taken George up on an invitation, she had been digging grit from under her fingernails, nursing her aching fingers and biceps, for the rest of the day. Now that she's pregnant, she can't imagine trying to maneuver up one of the walls. Kevin and George's next adventure will apparently involve destination climbing. When Terry expresses some interest, Bess just shakes her head.

Kevin and George are so similar: heartbreak in their past, given up on love before they met, eager and athletic to a fault. Terry and Bess fill in each other's gaps. Terry and Ned both love to veg out on the couch with a beer and watch the game, while Bess would much rather be in the kitchen making snacks and ignoring the game. Terry would be equal to the challenge of a vigorous climb; Bess would rather do almost anything else.

Ned gets a text message while they're passing the bread basket around the table, the wine and their entrees ordered. Bess turns to George and asks if she wants to go to the restroom; she turns to Nancy with an expectant look on her face, and Nancy glances at her husband, her eyebrows raised.

Ned glances up at her. "It's okay," he says quietly, although the expression in his eyes is distracted, focused somewhere else entirely.

"Bill?"

Ned nods slightly. "It's okay," he repeats.

The three girls head to the bathroom, although the small frown between Ned's brows has made Nancy uneasy. "So," Bess says as soon as they walk into the room, and even the bathroom is done well, with muted lighting and a lot of natural wood. "Being pregnant must not be that bad, if you were willing to do it again..."

Nancy raises her eyebrows at her best friend. "Are you trying to say that you...?"

Bess shrugs a little. "We've started talking about it," she admits, her lips curving up a little.

Then Nancy and Bess glance over at George, who shakes her head. "Not me," she says firmly, but not with the vehemence that Nancy would take as denial. "Remember? He's been fixed."

"And that can be reversed," Bess points out, walking over to the sink to wash her hands.

"Yeah, because I can totally imagine George strapping a baby to her back while she and Kevin climb a damn _mountain_ ," Nancy points out.

On the way back to the table, they're laughing, and Nancy glances over at Terry, not missing the expression in his eyes when he looks at his wife. While she has always been honest with Bess, that having Jamie definitely changed her life, she's always been sure that Bess will make an excellent mother. Maybe George is content to be an aunt, and maybe she always will be, but Nancy wouldn't give up Jamie for anything. Even though the prospect of being a mother had always been just a little terrifying, from the second they put her little boy in her arms, the hours and hours of agonizing labor had been worth it.

Ned's just standing to pull out his wife's chair when he glances back toward the front of the restaurant. Nancy, keying to his sudden interest, glances that way as well.

A man in a black windbreaker, his hand jammed into the pocket, is moving swiftly between the tables. His brow is furrowed, his steps erratic. His cheeks are glowing faintly, stubbled and sallow.

When he pulls his hand out of his pocket, his gaze shifts from its intent focus on Ned's face to Nancy, and a part of her isn't surprised at all when she sees a gun in his grasp.

And time slows down until years pass between every beat of her heart, and still he's too fast.

The man's face is twisted in rage when he points the gun at Nancy and pulls the trigger. He's saying something, but she can't hear it. She can just feel it. She can just feel it like the last grains through the hourglass, like the last few inches playing through her fingers.

She just wanted more time. Her husband, her son, all the people she loves, everything, she just wants more time. But she's breathless, speechless, and she just doesn't know what to do, her knees feel weak—

Ned grabs Nancy and pulls her to the floor, the report of the gun ringing in their ears.

And he's hit.

"Hey!"

Ned's cousin was deployed, on active duty, and though she can't see anything from her seat on the floor, she knows that the scrambling she hears is Terry, racing after the guy who shot at her, who hit Ned. Protecting them. He shouts something, and it takes a moment for Nancy to parse it—he told Bess and George to get down, out of sight.

And then time speeds up again, too fast, far too fast. Bess collapses to the floor and George has a steak knife clenched in her fist as she drops to the carpet as well. Kevin has joined Terry, and from the front of the restaurant Nancy can hear screaming, the clatter of silverware as other customers react to the shooting. A woman screams, a man shouts. Someone speaks in a calm, even voice that Nancy can't understand. Her heart is so loud. Everything in her is so loud.

"Are you okay?"

Ned's panting. Ned.

It takes a moment for Nancy to respond. She can't remember how to speak. Inside her head she just keeps screaming.

He was hit. He was _hit_. He took his coat off when they sat down to eat and blood is staining the sleeve of his white shirt from the graze of the bullet. And yet he's asking _her_ if she's all right.

"Ned," she whispers, a tear streaking down her cheek as she stares at his arm.

"What do you want me to do," George says firmly. "Ned?"

Under any other circumstances Nancy would go after this asshole, but she can't leave her husband, and she's afraid that if the guy confirms that he didn't actually do any serious damage, he won't be so sloppy the next time. She's quivering with adrenaline, so much that her limbs are almost twitching with it, and Bess mutters a curse from beside them.

Ned pulls out his cell phone, still gazing at his wife. "Sounds like the guy is gone. Can you glance at the front door for me, very carefully, and tell me what's happening?" he asks George.

Ned calls in the shooting, giving the address and reporting that shots were fired, that he's injured, that the suspect fled the scene on foot as far as he knows. Kevin returns and says the guy ran west, then climbed into a white sedan and raced off; Terry is calling 911 and hasn't returned to the table quite yet.

"Jamie," Nancy breathes. "Jamie! Oh my God!"

Ned gives her one brisk nod, speaking to the person at the other end of the line again. "And I need you to send a patrol car to my father-in-law's house," Ned says rapidly, reeling off the address. "Suspect may be en route. _May_ be."

Terry returns unharmed, having memorized most of the car's license plate number, and then Bess flings her arms around him, holding him tight. George scowls and says she should have just kicked off her heels too and given chase, and Kevin says he's glad she didn't. And Nancy just lets it flow over her, her wide-eyed gaze fixed on Ned's arm as she pulls out her own cell phone.

"Hannah? Is Jamie okay?"

"He's fine," Hannah says, her voice sharp as she responds to the barely restrained panic in Nancy's voice. "What's wrong?"

"A man—just came in—shot at us—make sure he's okay," Nancy says, feeling like she's about to hyperventilate.

"He's right here beside me, Nan, and he's fine. A man _shot_ at you?"

"Hit Ned," Nancy says, her throat closing up. "Please keep him safe, Hannah. _Please._ Be there soon."

The ambulance arrives soon after, responding to the call. Ned was perfectly fine with taking a cab to the emergency room to be checked out, but the EMTs come in and ask to see anyone injured. Nancy's still holding one of the black napkins to his arm to apply pressure. They check him out and say he'll need a few stitches, but another woman who was hit has a much worse injury. They direct Ned to the ambulance, but Ned glances at his wife.

"Go to your dad's house," he says. "I'll go get stitched up and I'll be right there."

They split into cars. Terry drives Nancy to River Heights, since she's far too keyed up to drive, and Kevin drives Ned to the hospital since his arm was injured, while Bess and George stay behind to grab their boxed meals. As soon as they slide into the car Nancy's phone rings. Her heart is in her throat, choking her, when she sees her father's home number on the display.

"Hello? Is he okay?" she asks as soon as the call connects. She can hear how shrill her voice is, but she can't stop it.

Terry glances over at Nancy as he fiddles with the GPS. Nancy taps her father's address in River Heights to direct him there, then listens to her father's voice.

"Nancy? Hannah told me there was a shooting?"

"We were at dinner and a man came in," Nancy says, and she sees blood on her fingertips, staining the hem of her dress. Her husband's blood. The trembling in her hand gets worse. "I—that note—I just—"

"I understand. Ned?"

"He's on his way to the hospital—stitched up—it was just a graze..." It hits her all at once, and she starts breathing faster, trying to keep herself from just sobbing uncontrollably. "Oh my God, oh my God."

"And you, you're okay?"

"I'm... Yeah. I'm okay. I'm coming there. We're on the way."

"We?"

"Terry's—driving me."

"Good. You sound like you're about to come out of your skin, sweetheart. Just calm down. I think—yeah, there's a police car parked across the street, so if that man comes here, he'll be in for it. Did you get a look at him?"

"Black windbreaker," Nancy says, trying to calm herself down. Ned isn't seriously injured and her son is safe, and police are already there. "White guy, stubble..."

"Blond hair," Terry adds as he merges onto the highway, obeying the GPS's instructions. "Slender build, just under six foot."

"We'll be on the lookout," Carson says. "It's okay, Nan. We'll see you in a few minutes."

Nancy hangs up the phone and puts it on her knee, tipping her head back. "Thanks," she says, after a moment. "Thanks, Terry."

"No problem."

"For everything. For—for going after that guy—"

Terry shakes her head. "Seriously, no problem."

Nancy closes her eyes. "Have I ever told you how glad I am that you and Bess are together? You're just such a great guy."

Terry chuckles. "Uh, yeah. Actually. When you got pretty sloshed at the Halloween party?"

"Oh. Oh."

"It's fine. Really. I'm really glad Bess and I found each other, too. I—she's an amazing girl. Nancy, are you sure you don't need to go by the hospital? Are you feeling all right?"

Her hands are still shaking a little. "I'm okay," she murmurs. "As soon as I see Jamie, as soon as they're with me, I'll be okay."

She's just thinking about calling Bill and asking if he knows anything about the shooting when her phone rings, and she sees his number on the display. "Hello?"

"Just talked to Ned," Bill says. "We have guys out looking for that tag number—it's a miracle you guys got it, and we're narrowing it down. Ned feels like he recognizes the guy. Shouldn't take long."

"Thanks, Bill," Nancy says, her breath coming out of her in a long rush. "Is it—the case you guys just got?"

"No, no. Definitely not. Whatever Ned remembers him from, it's not that, and they wouldn't do that, especially not so early."

A cold fist of fear clenches Nancy's heart, and Bill trips over himself. "No, Nan—I mean—relax. It's not that. Just sounds like some whackjob got it in his head, but we'll find him."

The rest of the trip to River Heights is a blur. Terry has barely pulled the car to a stop before Nancy has the door open. The porch light is on and the driver's side door of the police car opens, but the patrolman behind the wheel recognizes Nancy and relaxes. Hannah has the front door open for Nancy and Jamie's on the couch, in his pajamas. When he sees the look on her face, his blue eyes widen, and she didn't remember that she had blood on her dress, she doesn't know what expression must be on her face, but Jamie is immediately frightened, just the way he was when she picked him up at his preschool. She wraps him in her arms and her cheeks are wet with tears.

By the time Ned arrives, with Kevin, all of them are there. Bess and George brought their dinners, and Kevin's with Ned, and Nancy still has Jamie tight against her. She wants to take him home, to take both her husband and her son home, but she doesn't want to leave just yet. Her mind is exhausted but she's still thrumming with adrenaline, in case the guy _does_ somehow find them here, in case he's waiting for them back at home...

Ned's on the phone when he walks in. Hannah reheats their food and they sit down at the large dining room table, and it's strange, how little has changed and how much has changed. Then Ned hangs up the phone and looks at his wife, as she spreads a napkin in her lap.

"They've got him, Nan."

Nancy actually feels herself deflate a little, her eyes swimming. "They're sure?"

Ned nods. "Yeah. They're sure. They're getting the hostess to come in for the lineup, but it's him."

Ned recognized the guy, he realizes now, from an incident six or so months earlier. Tanner Burleigh had been in the precinct house drunk at eleven o'clock in the morning, demanding that the police turn over his wife and child, that they tell him where they were. Lynette Burleigh had filed a restraining order against her parolee ex-husband, one he had violated multiple times, and when she had finally moved out of the area, afraid of Tanner and his violent rages, Tanner had turned his attention on the men who, in his mind, were keeping Lynette away from him. Tanner had made a swing at a cop that day in the precinct house, and they had all been relieved to arrest him for assaulting a police officer; Ned had helped detain him. Tanner had been wild, raving, strong for someone so inebriated, and violent too.

And then Tanner had fixed his gimlet-eyed gaze on the photo of Ned's family on his desk, and Ned hadn't thought anything of it. Tanner had screamed that he wanted his son back, his wife and his son, they couldn't hide them from him anymore...

And Nancy's stomach tightened at the thought of that man following her, watching their son, threatening them. If he couldn't have his own son back, well, maybe he had decided that he'd punish the men he thought were responsible.

"Jamie's about the same age as Tanner's son," Ned explains under his breath. "He just..." Ned shakes his head. "He just lost it. But considering his rap sheet, he'll be put away for a long time, baby."

For the rest of their dinner they make general conversation, and Nancy doesn't miss the way Terry and Bess pay attention to Jamie. Every few minutes she just has to touch him, just has to reassure herself that he's here and okay and she's not still stuck in that terrible interminable agony, watching Tanner raise the gun, knowing that she's never been so close...

Not even being in Nash's custody, cuffed to him, sure that she wouldn't make it out... because then she had not been pregnant, she hadn't had Jamie, and Ned hadn't been in danger. And he had shielded her body with his...

They're all feeling drained after their meal, and Bess gives her best friend a tired smile. "One thing I have to say, nights with you are never dull," she says, wrapping Nancy in a hug. "I'm glad you're okay. But maybe we can all just get together and play cards next weekend, just to make up for how tonight went? Something safe-ish?"

"Yeah, definitely," Nancy says, hugging her back. She hugs George, Kevin, and Terry too, making them promise to drive safely and keep alert. When George shuts the door behind her and Kevin, Hannah turns to see Nancy picking up her wrap. Carson and Jamie are next to each other on the couch, and Jamie's fully exhausted, his long lashes low as he slumps against his grandfather's side. Carson has an arm wrapped around his shoulders, and the sight of her father and her son like that makes Nancy swallow hard.

"I'm sorry about tonight," she says. "Thanks—thanks for keeping him safe."

Hannah shakes her head. "It's no problem, Nan. It's okay. I'm glad they found that guy. Are you sure you don't want to just stay here tonight? Jamie's already asleep..."

Nancy shakes her head. "No, really, it's okay. I just want to get him home. But thanks."

Carson hugs his daughter and son-in-law goodbye, brushing a kiss against Jamie's forehead, and it's only when Nancy's carrying her son to his bed that she remembers. She and Ned were supposed to have tonight for themselves. But she wouldn't be able to sleep without her son nearby, and Ned hasn't made any comment about it.

In their room Nancy slowly strips out of her clothes, and Ned helps once he's down to his boxers. They go to the bathroom and she washes the last trace of blood off her fingers, gets in the shower and washes off the sweat from her fear and nervousness, and Ned ducks his head under too, coming out of the bathroom naked. She had put on her pretty lingerie for him, but when he sees her she's sitting at the foot of their bed, naked too, her hair up in a messy bun and her bloodstained dress in the dirty clothes hamper, and her blue eyes are shimmering with tears.

He comes to her, silently, and she clings to him, her skin pressed tight to his, her limbs twined around him. He holds her as she trembles with her sobs, and his lips graze her neck.

"You're okay. You're safe. Oh, God, oh thank God you're safe," Ned whispers against her ear. "Oh, baby, oh thank God you're safe."

She doesn't know how she will ever let him go, now. She doesn't understand. And in the morning the sun will rise and it will be another day she's been given, another day she can spend with the people she loves.

And then Ned's lips brush her cheek, and she turns her face to kiss him.

They can't be close enough. They can't scramble together quickly enough. She falls back on the bed, still wrapped around him, and there is no foreplay, there is only her desperate need and the almost stricken look in her husband's eyes. She guides him to her and cries out when he slips into her, and he doesn't muffle her, just gazes at her like he can't believe she's still here.

"I love you so much," he whispers when he pushes the full length of his cock into the slick heat of her sex, and she whimpers, adjusting to the feel of him. "I love you so much."

The tears rise hot in her eyes and they're cold on her cheeks, and she moves with him, staring up at him. Tanner had been aiming for _her_ and Nancy had never thought, never, never, never thought that this terrible ravenous thing coming for her would take him instead. Never.

"I need you," she whimpers, and her voice is trembling, her fingers in his hair. "Oh my God, baby, I love you so much, I can't—Ned, oh, God, oh _God_..."

His thrusts are gentle at first and then they're rolling over, joined tight as they possibly can be, fingertips stroking over sweat-dampened skin, nails digging in, kissing and nipping at each other. Their kiss is so hard it leaves the coppery taste of blood in her mouth and when she shifts her hips he drives even deeper inside her, and she's frantic, shuddering against him.

She knows nothing beyond them, and yet every cell in her body is on alert, waiting for the faintest creak or rattle in their house, some sign that they aren't alone, but only the squeal of the bedsprings finds her. Her husband moves inside her until she's sobbing at the pleasure of it, quiet to keep from waking their son, and when she slumps to the mattress, spent and still flushed sensitive, Ned groans as he finally lets himself come.

Nancy holds him to her, her lips brushing against his throat. She's still shivering with every breath he takes, every gentle movement of his hips between hers. "I need you," she whispers.

"I need you too, Nan," Ned murmurs, and his lips brush against the point of her jaw. "I need you. I love you."

She draws in another shuddering breath. "Please, don't leave me," she whispers. "I couldn't bear it. I thought..."

Ned pulls back to gaze at her. "What did you think, sweetheart," he whispers.

She looks away. He finds the cloth to clean her up and she pulls a tissue out of the box to wipe her face, too, slipping back into her underwear, one of her husband's shirts. Ned pulls her to him and she buries her face against his chest, drawing the scent of him in, their legs tangled together.

"I thought it would be me," she finally breathes.

"No, baby. No. You know I'd never let anything like that happen if I could do anything to stop it..."

She shakes her head, and Ned's hand cups her cheek.

"Then what is it," he whispers.

Nancy takes a long breath, and she remembers so many times it has been like this. The night of the party, when she drank until she thought she could forget, giving herself over to the grief when she had known she couldn't. Nights when she did everything, every damn thing she could, to try to distract herself, but there is no forgetting, there is only a hole in her that will never close up or stop hurting. There is only an ache that she almost never lets herself even acknowledge.

And she can't say this to him, but she can't _not_ say it, either. Not now.

"I'm the same age my mom was," she says, her voice so faint he has to strain to hear it.

"Your mom..."

And at first, whenever Ned would spend those days and nights with her, he had not understood the pain and grief she felt. Now, though, they are all too familiar to him.

Nancy closes her eyes. "I don't want to die," she says, her voice faint and trembling with tears. "I don't want to leave you. I want to be with you and Jamie. I want to meet our baby. I don't want to lose this, oh God, Ned..."

He slips his arms around her, holding her tight. "Oh God, baby."

"And... tonight... you would have died..."

"Shhhhhhh. Shh, baby. Shhhh." He strokes her hair. "It's just a little scratch, sweetheart. We're fine. We're both fine. We're fine."

"I don't know what I'd do if I lost you."

"Oh, Nan..."

And she tells him, but saying it doesn't make it hurt any less; it hurts more to be speaking it, to know he's hearing it. How she imagined Ned and Jamie moving back to his parents' house in Mapleton, imagined Jamie growing up without a mother just the way she had. Imagined never meeting the child growing inside her. And while it hurt, she had been convinced it would be her; while she's always afraid, every morning when he leaves, every call she gets during the day, always afraid she's about to hear that something has happened to him, that he won't be coming home, that wasn't like tonight. She had never seen him dying in her arms. She had never, never wanted him to be the one...

And she will never make her peace with the idea of his dying. Never. Ned, Ned could survive, could raise their son, but if she lost Ned...

"Nan." Ned's voice is hoarse, broken. "Never, baby. Never. Never. I told you. You and Jamie are everything to me. Everything. Don't... oh God, oh God, don't. Please, baby, don't even say it..."

And they hold each other, and she tries to let the grief and fear go, but what she told him is true. He's a detective, he's rarely in the kind of situations that put his life in danger the way he was before, but there will always be madmen like Tanner, there will always be forces out of her control. And a son she loves more than life itself, a son she would die to protect, who would be permanently scarred by the loss of either of them.

She's exhausted but she can't sleep. Neither of them sleep, really, and when she can't bear it any longer she slips out of their bed and goes to Jamie's room, sitting down on the floor beside his bed and watching him breathe. If she stares at him too long she knows he will probably sense her presence and wake, and she closes her eyes, dry-washing her face with her palms.

Ned comes to her, kisses Jamie gently on the forehead, and then lifts his wife into his arms, carrying her back to their bed. He just sits there at the edge with her, holding her, slowly rocking with her. She buries her face against the side of his neck and clings to him, and she doesn't know how she will ever sleep again.

"Shhhh," Ned whispers, pushing her hair off her temple, gently kissing her there. He slips his hand down and cups her waist, the heel of his hand against the swell of her belly. "We have to sleep, baby. It'll be okay."

When she wakes in the morning, her head pulsing like she's in the middle of a vicious hangover, Nancy cringes and gently touches her face, and her husband isn't beside her. From downstairs she hears the rattle of dishes.

She showers quickly, putting on a pair of faded jeans and a loose shirt, her thumb brushing her engagement ring as she walks downstairs in stockinged feet. Jamie's at the table, a sippy cup in front of him, and his face lights up when he sees her. Ned's at the stove, a plate of pancakes on the counter as he flips another.

"Well," Nancy says softly.

"We were going to bring you breakfast in bed," Ned says with a mock pout, meeting his wife's eyes, but he only relaxes once she smiles. "Pancakes?"

"Pancakes!" Jamie squeals happily. "Pancakes, Mommy!"

She drops a kiss on her son's head, then wraps her arms around her husband from behind, brushing her lips against the back of his neck. "Good morning, my favorite two people in the world," she tells them, and other than the pounding in her head, the small white bandage on her husband's arm is the only sign that the night before wasn't just a nightmare.

"I would love some pancakes," she tells her husband, and he gives her a plate, then a smaller one for her to cut up for Jamie, before he pulls the mug out of the cabinet for her coffee. She shoots him a genuine smile when he serves it to her, and Jamie attacks his pancakes with relish, and Nancy props her chin on her hand, memorizing them all over again. The golden light catches at the tips of Jamie's eyelashes and his cheeks are so rosily round, and Ned moves easily, almost gracefully, as he maneuvers around their kitchen table and sets his own place.

And she can feel it, in that fathomless sea between her ribs, their baby quickening inside her.

They are safe. All of them are safe. And that panic, that rootless irrational panic that has been steadily growing in her for the last year, especially since that pregnancy test came back positive... it doesn't entirely fade, but she finally feels herself begin to relax.

They've talked about it. They've talked about his parents' house back in Mapleton, the big backyard, the elementary school, being closer to Hannah and Carson... and yet she hadn't been sure that she would ever see it.

She can finally see herself there, now, with them, with both their children.

She takes the first bite of her pancakes and swallows, and Jamie grins at her, and Ned smiles at her too, his wedding ring gleaming on his finger. Her eyes are gleaming, and when Ned's brows knit in concern, she shakes her head.

She's cheated death so many damn times. By now she practically has it down to a science, and she has no intention of giving this up. Not anymore.

"So what are we going to do today," she asks, and her boys smile at her.


End file.
